The Sea, The Sea
by Tsuchinoko
Summary: Xigbar, hopeless workaholic, has been given a cruise ship vacation he wants nothing to do with. Stuck on a hunk of metal alone for a week, it's only a matter of time before he tries to drown himself. That is, until he meets Demyx. AU XigDem
1. The Beginning

**Hello, everyone! This is the lovely product of a plot bunny that hit me last night. I hope you enjoy, and I encourage you to leave a donation in the box! (Of course I mean leave me a review! Please? Pretty please? Don't make me do a silly dance!)**

**At the moment, I think that XigDem will be the singular pairing here, but everything is subject to change, including the rating. **

**Disclaimer: I am just playing in Square Enix's sandbox. I own none of these characters. **

**Let's do this thing! **

**Chapter One – The Scarred Man and The Sea **

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The day was a beautiful one. A clear, sapphire sky banked the calm sea while the gulls cawed melodically overhead, swooping over excited, cheerful men, women, and children as they waited on the sunny deck to board their ship, laughing and talking. 

It was the worst day ever.

He remembered vividly the faces of his coworkers as they forced this monstrosity upon him.

"_Xigbar, sir, we've been talking and…"_

"_And?"  
_

"_And, er, we think that you need a vacation." _

_Xigbar's head whipped up from his work so fast that it caught his younger employee off guard, adding wide eyes to his already flushed face. "You what?" The associate cleared his throat. _

"_We all chipped in to buy you these." That's when the tickets had been thrown atop his desk, poorly aimed by the shaking hand. It was not fear, as Xigbar had very good relationships with pretty much every one he met, but nerves; suggesting he take a vacation was as deserving of the death sentence as anything could be in a sugar factory. In all honesty, the factory was completely separate from the office building, of which Xigbar was a highly regarded CEO, and although he never saw so much as a twinkie in the flesh, there were plenty of them choking the paperwork. _

_When he opened the ticket envelope, brightly inked slips stared up at him, announcing happily that he would be leaving in three days' time for the 'cruise of his life'. His mouth hung slightly open. He couldn't very well destroy his employees' morale by turning away their gift, especially considering he didn't pay them much and it must have cost them a hefty price. _

"_Please, take a vacation. You work too much. There are two tickets there, so take someone special and go relax, okay?" _

Ohh no, it was absolutely _not _okay. Not only did Xigbar have no one around him he'd tolerate for a full week, but it would mean dropping work for the same amount of time, something he couldn't see himself doing. He almost considered selling the second ticket (and possibly his own), but he couldn't bring himself to do so. He was a shrewd money shark in the office, but this was personal; he wouldn't be able to spend the money he gained without feeling guilty.

Business man? Well, sure, not a very odd job, but his conscience made him pretty unique in that career field.

And maybe the cruise would be fun, eh? Maybe? Just a little?

But now he was definitely regretting ever being hopeful. All the people around him had company with them, and they were yammering away about the rooms they were staying in and the activities they were going to do together, and even though Xigbar would have free reign of his schedule and a number of entertaining activities aboard _The Highwind_, there was no joy in it. Well, so what? Who cared if he could eat dinner at 6:00, 6:30, 7:15, or 8:00? He'd still be eating alone. Then there would be waltzing into the massage parlour looking like world's number one perv, anxious for little lady fingers. As if he wanted anything to do with those.

What he wouldn't give to replace the sea and the sky with fluorescent lights and cheap, recycled carpet. He was _comfortable _in the office, comfortable with steel and cold, dark things he could take control of in the same fluid manner he dealt with his stock portfolio and coffee breaks. A man of habit? Never! A king's life may grow monotonous, but at least he's still a king!

And it wasn't even that. He could have accepted the millions of job opportunities for jobs that were higher up than his, but he'd rather be working with his men, working until he literally broke a sweat, than sitting in a lonely penthouse, watching the world go by below with his arms clasped behind his back. No, no. And his men trusted him, despite him being, frankly, scary looking, with an eye patch (often speculated about but never indulged), wildly greying hair, and enough scars that he would joke that his previous job had been bear wrestling.

He probably would have taken bear wrestling over this cruise. The dread filled his stomach as he boarded, jostled by other passengers and their things. The ship was Hawaii-bound, with nothing but ocean, ocean, and ocean in between too small, too fleeting spurts of land.

As usual, people gawked at him all the way inside the large, well-furnished interior. He was efficiently checked in and guided, unnecessarily, to his room, number 213. Then the door shut and everything went quiet.

He stared at the white door, he stared at the cozy bed, he stared at the suitcases atop the cozy bed, but mostly he stared at nothing at all. And wondered what to do. And wondered when he should start doing it. Then he wondered how on earth he was going to survive a week of this.

* * *

Work, of course, was his saviour. If his employees were really serious about making him relax, they should have taken his laptop, for there he sat, on a pristine, double poster bed with deep purple hangings, in a room wallpapered in crème and lilac, with fuzzy carpet, with a jacuzzi in the bathroom, with a whole sunny deck of laughing creatures enjoying activities—there he sat, typing away on the latest report with his spindly legs drawn uncomfortably close and socks still on his feet. 

Actually, it took all of his best efforts to even come up with any semblance of a wardrobe for this affair; he only owned button-up shirts and a million black slacks. He had to gather his loosest pants and breeziest shirts, preferably in brighter colours. There was no need to frighten anyone even further. Just imagining the kids screaming to their parents the moment he walked out on deck…ugh, leaving his long hair down made him look like a hobo, he thought, but pulling it up just threw his eye patch and scar in sharper relief.

He was so absorbed in what he was doing that he hardly even thought at all about how the structure around him was mobile, or that the day was wearing from noon to early evening. _Hah, _he thought triumphantly_, that was at least half a day's work right there. _If only the others were here to witness the victory.

Admittedly, though, he was bored as hell, and decided to leave the room, throwing on a pair of ugly flip-flops and walking down the navy-coloured hallway, following the signs to the closest deck. If he was going to be trapped on a floating prison, at least he could learn its mysteries first, right?

The deck he entered was currently facing to the east, he figured, as the sun was nowhere to be seen but the evidence of its presence was all around in the form of crisp, orange light. Xigbar smiled tentatively to a passing couple who, unless he was really paranoid now, held each other a little tighter as they crossed paths. All around there were people lounging on beach chairs and leaning against the railings, some alone, some together, and some minding their children. Hands in his pockets, loose strands of long hair fluttering by his face, Xigbar made his way to the left until he arrived at the pool, a surprisingly deep number. He settled in a chair safely away from the water and admired the way the late afternoon sun caught in the crystal clear water.

Then he caught himself, wondering what he was doing admiring anything, especially pool water which was probably just _crawling _with a thousand kids' worth of grime, and the adults were probably even worse. That thought made him realise how much sex would probably be happening on this ship, and he shuddered.

In his office life, Xigbar rarely went out but did manage to bag a few when he did. Mostly he slept with women who, when filled with drinks, were pretty enthusiastic about his rugged exterior until the next morning when the light fully hit him and they would seize their torches and pitchforks until he left. To be fair, not all of them did that. The men, the very few he bedded, were better about it. Still, there was no one he'd ever liked enough to consider sharing a cruise with, let alone the same room and bed for a week. Sure, he was an exciting screw, but who would really want to bring him home to their parents? Who would look at him and assume he was the loving type?

Ah, well, that was life. At least he would be able to retire rich. At least he had a whole week of 'relaxation' ahead of him. He dozed and thought of these things. When he awoke, somewhat warmed from the sun, he considered, with slight joy, that at least it was time for dinner.

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**That completes our first episode. Comments, complaints? Feel free to drop me a line. Hope to see you next time! **


	2. Testing the Waters

**Hello everyone. I'm sorry for the wait; NaNoWriMo distracted me. I'm back in business now! **

**Not much else to say. Please enjoy!**

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Xigbar strode past the pool, hands in his pockets, watching the aqua water glow with the lights and shudder with the strokes of the two children that were swimming within it. His skin felt pleasantly warm, his hair seeming to retain the sun, burning when he reached up to be sure his ponytail was presentable. It was common for him to be profiled like a motorcycle gang member, even when he was in full office regalia. Not that he minded; it kept many bothersome people out of his hair.

He recalled, as he nodded to the people he passed on deck, a poster he'd seen in high school. Though he couldn't remember what it said, he knew the gist of it was that there were two bank tellers and two customers, one smiling and the other frowning, and their moods affected the moods of the employees. It was something about projecting happiness, thus making everyone around you happy. Even as a teenager, he hadn't put much stock in the sentiment. Bank tellers handled your money—why would you want to distract them with kindness? Xigbar wasn't particularly mean, but he didn't see the point of constantly smiling like an idiot, which was exactly what everyone else here was doing. Everyone seemed to be in such a damned good mood.

So was he, in a way. As soon as he resisted the need for his fingers to grasp a pen or type on keys, he would be fine. In conjunction with his previous thought, he wondered what teenage Xigbar would have thought of present Xigbar. Teenage Xigbar didn't bother with any kind of work, really. Probably thought it was stupid to forfeit sun and water for a dumb report that would be irrelevant and forgotten by next month.

Outside himself, he hardly noticed that he was going the wrong direction, and stopped directly in the middle of hallway, staring at the sign that cheerily declared that he was heading towards the billiards room. "Damn." He looked around, making sure no one had witnessed this falter in consciousness, and did an about face until he saw the first signs directing him towards the dining room. It was a few minutes after eight. Hopefully _The Highwind _wasn't too rigid about their dining times; he didn't want them to have a fit. Although, he admitted, it would be funny to see little doll-like waiters lurching over the tables towards him, throwing crepes and caviar (whatever those things were) at him.

The small lobby he reached had two sets of double doors against one of its sides, both doors white and framed in gold, with cut glass panels that showed a splintered picture of the dining room. The thin man hung back for a moment, watching other people filter in and out for a while before going in himself, just to make sure he was doing it right.

The dining room, it turned out, was the most impressive feature of the ship. It was shaped like an awkward triangle with flat edges and a lit stage jutting into its base. All around the stage small white tables were spaced evenly, tiny candle votives flickering atop them. Buffet lines were to the left, waiters helping people order or carrying food. A female waiter with short red hair walked past, dark menus tucked under her arm and a tray stacked with dirty dishes upon her hands, and looked at him. She smiled. "Take a seat wherever you want, honey."

"Thank you," was what he said, and then she was gone.

Some families and friends had pushed the small tables together, but it seemed that most people were keeping to themselves, which suited him fine. He chose a table, careful not to catch his ponytail between his chair and his back as he sat down, eyeing the three other places that were set at the table with what might have been disdain, but was closer to melancholy. After he'd ordered a drink, he used the time to look around more fully.

The white ceiling was carved with windows, the innermost and largest of which was topped by water, obviously not the pool's. By activeness of the water, he guessed that it was a fountain. Back on the ground, there were several tanks of exotic fish propped against the walls or between tables as well as tasteful vases exploding with plastic flowers. As the area was fully carpeted, the chatter in the room did not overwhelm the place; in fact, the dominating sound, apart from the music, was the bubbling of the aquariums.

The music itself was agreeable soft rock. Xigbar thought it was nice, perhaps not in his entirely conscious mind, but it was good background music that had a beat and gentle rhythm. It was interesting, if only because the band could have been a rock group if they'd had the urge, but they managed to play docile tunes. If he could play an instrument, he mused, he would hate playing so calmly. He wondered how the musicians could stand it. Looking at them, he saw that they were all fairly young, the oldest member in what could be his mid thirties. Their band contained a keyboard, a drum set, and two guitars. No singing, luckily. Xigbar wasn't sure if he could stomach singing.

His waiter reappeared with his pop and took his food order (chicken fingers. Real men eat them), asking if he wanted any sort of wine with his food. "Nah, I'm good." _I'll probably cruise by the bar later. Booze got the pirates by; I'll cave eventually. _Pirates versus this luxurious, endless doom. Ridiculous.

It was while he was taking a sip of his pop that he looked over the rip of his glass, catching very specific sight of one of the guitarists, who seemed to be watching him, unless it was only a catch of the dim light.

_Hmm, no_. He was definitely being watched.

The guitarist was among the youngest of the band, with lankly limbs, broad shoulders, and light hair that, where it did not fall straight down, stuck straight up. He looked pensive, as though enjoying his own music despite the fact that he had to concentrate on playing it. He also seemed to be able to multitask, at one point bringing up one of his legs to scratch the back of the other. Xigbar had to laugh at that, quietly of course, and he turned his gaze away in a fond sort of haze until he abruptly realised what he was doing. The shame came mostly because he wasn't used to finding anything endearing, least of all an adult. But he didn't look—well, alright, he _looked _like an adult, this guitarist, but he didn't feel like one in Xigbar's mind. He looked fun and nice, but most of all he looked like trouble.

Especially troublesome because Xigbar found himself wanting to keep watching him to see what other ridiculous thing he would do. But there was only so much the kid was capable of, stuffed into that black and white uniform. Xigbar almost felt sorry for him, except he seemed to be having a good time, even trapped in the confines of a stage and a bowtie. Their song ended and the band took a small break, reaching for water bottles and towels. The guitarist cast a sunny grin and sentiment to one of his band mates before they began again.

Eventually the kitchens produced his food, which he nibbled on at first and then, upon deciding that it was more than satisfactory, dug into ravenously. He hadn't eaten anything since they'd left port, which seemed scandalous when he considered that the cruise line prided themselves on their excellent food, as well as a multitude of other things they claimed to do better than everyone else. Xigbar had never been on any other ship, so not only was there no basis for comparison, but he wasn't the type to notice those sorts of things anyway. He did notice, however, that the guitarist, his face oval-shaped and friendly, was shooting him glances that he perhaps fancied to be surreptitious but could have been obvious to anyone with at least one eye, had they been watching the musician. As Xigbar owned at least one eye and had in fact been watching, he fell under this category.

It wasn't until after his dinner was finished that he felt the craving for a drink, and abandoned his table in favour of the bar, which was lit by neon pink, blue, and the shimmer of another large aquarium (was that even _safe_?) that contained a myriad of colourful creatures. The music from the dining room could still be heard, but it was drowned out by the jazz playing over the bar's speakers.

The drinking went by uneventfully, and as he had no sorrows to drown and no desire to be drunk, Xigbar rose and decided to head back to his room for the night, before dinner ended and they cleared the tables to make room for the dancing. Food and drink was fine with him, but dancing was where he drew the line. Girls did it because they liked to be pretty. Guys did it because they wanted to get laid. It was pretty simple.

He had just crossed between decks when suddenly a door opened, spilling bright yellow light onto the polished wood beneath him. Laughter and voices also burst from the threshold, going silent after a person stumbled out happily and closed the door behind him.

"Oh?" this person said, slipping a hand through his wet bangs. He seemed to be very sweaty, judging by the sheen cast on his face when the dim, watery lights hit him just right, but Xigbar had the unconscious thought that there was no wrong way for the light to strike him, because no matter what the scenery was like, the friendly guitarist was nothing but amiable. "Er, hi."

"Hello," Xigbar rumbled suspiciously. He already felt himself growing detached from the situation, pulling from his body with each passing breeze, steeling himself to be frank and curt with this man despite having an interest in him. Call it a flaw.

"Hey, did you like dinner? I saw you there." Obviously he felt the need to clarify, which meant that he was either oblivious to their semi-acquaintance or covering to prevent awkwardness. "I like your hair. Is it natural?"

Xigbar nearly growled. "Yes."

They stood there, the guitarist fiddling with the strap of his instrument bag, a big black number that seemed to be almost as big as he was. A couple walked by, murmuring apologies for interrupting them, as if Xigbar and the boy had been having a real conversation. Conversation, right. This kid reminded him of the interns at the sugar factory: fun and useless until they were broken in. In the business world, Xigbar prized the broken-in model better, as it was more efficient; here on the dark navy sea, he couldn't help but admire the fun version that was incarnate before him.

"I'm Demyx."

"…nice to meet you."

"You too, man. What brings you here?"

The scarred man crossed his arms. "Vacation, totally not my choice."

"Ah, ah," Demyx said knowingly, grinning. "That type. Yessir, they've got a special chair at the massage parlour just for you."

"No, massages are weird," he retorted lightly.

"I know the feeling. But you get used to it."

"So…why are you here?" The moment it left his mouth Xigbar knew it was a stupid question. Nevertheless, Demyx seemed to take it in stride.

"I work here." He gestured behind him unnecessarily.

"I'm glad your college degree went to good use," Xigbar said sarcastically.

"Who said anything about college? Look, between you and me, I'm smart enough to go. I have the funds to go. But I really don't need it. I've been playing since I was eight."

"And what, this is your big break? Playing on a cruise ship?"

The wind rustled past, gently ruffling Demyx's dirty blond hair, his eyes softening. There was something in him that seemed to both want to reply saucily and take offence. He chose neither. "I love it out here. It's a big step up from playing weddings, which was better than school functions, which was infinitely better than playing for my family and a bunch of judgmental stiffs who tried to get me to play _classical piano_. Just cuz you're hot and bothered about it doesn't mean the rest of us can't like it."

"Whoa, wait." Xigbar held up his hands, more in a motion of 'shut up for a second' than 'back off, I'm frightened'. "No need to get hostile."

"I'm not getting hostile." The slight bewilderment on his face was all the proof needed to identify the statement as true—Demyx had no idea what he sounded like to Xigbar.

"You sure sounded like it."

"I didn't mean it that way!"

"Whatever."

"Why the hell are we having a fight? I don't even know your name. I just wanted to talk to you, because you look really cool; I hope you know that. And I guess I should have known you'd be one of those kinds of guys who has to pitch fits with everyone else to prove his superb manliness." As this monologue was taking place, the miffed guitarist began to walk away briskly away from the wind. Xigbar, for whatever reason, started after him, convincing himself that it was because he wanted to hear everything the kid had to say. "Just forget it, man." Demyx added and lowered his fingers to the railing, trilling his nails along it as he walked. Xigbar glared at him questioningly, remaining a pace or two behind out of respect, wondering what to say.

He'd single-handedly pissed this placid boy off. _Way to go_.

"Hey, I said leave it alone."

"No, that's stupid. You're the one being a drama queen."

"…"

"Demyx."

He said it to test the waters, to see what the boy would do. Surprisingly enough, it stopped him dead in his tracks, and he finally turned around, looking at this frightening man with scars and a missing eye and greyed hair. "Hmm?"

"I'm Xigbar. And I'm, uh, sorry?"

Demyx raised an eyebrow, keeping his composure for less than five seconds before splitting his face in a painful grin. "No, _I'm_, uh, sorry."

"Funny. Funny."

"You get used to it when you hang around me."

The other answered, reluctantly, "I doubt it."

"Mm, you're right. It's impossible to get used to pure genius. Hey, the band guys, well, I'm not really friends with them, and I've got nothing to do. I'm not a ballroom person. Do you want to hang out?"

"Are you sure an old prick like me wouldn't just drag you down?" To contradict himself, he held up an arm and flexed it, raising only a very small change of the surface of the thin limb.

"You might, but that's okay. I'll just hire one of the waiters to drag you around on a sled or something."

"Alright, but only if spoon-feed me and buy me footy pajamas, too."

"Only if they're pink."

"Only if they don't have bunny ears."

The blond considered for a moment, moving his lips around in thought and narrowing his eyes which, as they neared the well-lit pool, were at least some shade of blue. It was difficult to tell. "Alright, deal." They shook on it.

"But only until I leave this dump."

"What, you won't call me or anything?" the musician pouted, bending down to dip his toes in the pool. The water was a yellowish aqua at this point, the falsely pebbled floor fluctuating. The guitarist took his instrument from his shoulder, leaned back, stretching the muscles of his stomach, and placed it on a nearby beach chair. "If you let that get wet, I'll kill you," he threatened, at the same time pulling off his shirt.

"What're you doing?"

"I'm going on a drug raid. What the hell does it look like I'm doing?"

"You really want to swim in that?"

"I've seen the filtering system myself. It's top-notch. Come on, stiffy, or I'll push you in."

Xigbar was doubtful. The scars on his face were one thing, but the rest of his body was another story entirely. Despite the fact that the pool was nearly deserted, he wasn't willing to strip down in front of a young kid he'd just met, especially a young kid with a nice, smooth chest and gentle, thin muscles. The body attached to those muscles was slipping into the water of the deep end. Demyx was wearing the same shorts he had on when he'd practically fallen out of that door; did he always wear swim shorts? Xigbar's attire was somewhat suitable for bathing, if he took his shirt off, which led him back to his original doubt.

But the musician was sliding easily in the water now, the light patterns dancing on his flesh, and it looked so lovely and cool that Xigbar accepted defeat at last and unbuttoned his shirt, casting it away and approaching the edge of the water.

Demyx looked up from his serene backwards swimming and called out another encouragement. Xigbar, however, caught the lingering glance, the stare that must have been expertly masking fear, for surely that's what the boy must have felt seeing Xigbar's slender frame crisscrossed with various marks. Another reason he preferred the office to outside life: there was no swimming in cubicles.

But if Demyx was wary, he didn't show it, instead goading Xigbar to come in, even having the gall to beg him to dive. Xigbar didn't know how to dive. He knew how to swim, of course, but he hadn't really enjoyed swimming for a very long time. Many, many years, in fact. But it was like riding a bicycle, right? Except he forgot how to do that after he turned twenty seven. Hmm.

He dipped his fingers in. The water was warm from a day of sunlight and still retained its coolness. There was nothing to worry about.

All Demyx saw was a mean grin before Xigbar backed up and ran, leaping into the air and crashing down into the water, splattering liquid on the deck.

In the swishing aftermath, Demyx laughed and choked alternatively, loving the popping of the bubbles underneath him as Xigbar recovered from his jump and emerged, long hair sopping in its ponytail. Without thinking he swam over, behind the older man, and untangled the band from it, letting the long hair free while being mindful of his eyepatch. His hair looked so strange and wonderful, floating dreamily around him. Xigbar was still smiling. "That good enough for you?"

"Oh, most definitely."

They passed the rest of the night by splashing one another, having races, and throwing Xigbar's hair tie to see who could retrieve it faster.

Almost two hours later Xigbar shuffled to his room, waterlogged, a dull headache beginning to form somewhere around his ears and his chlorine-burned eyes, and his limbs still felt as though they were floating, but he was extremely happy. For once he didn't question the happiness and fell into his amazingly soft bed, comfortable and very much at peace.

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**If you have any comments or critiques, drop me a line. You can definitely expect an update sooner than last time. Once again, sorry for the wait!**


	3. They're staring, I know it

**I really have no excuse for my laziness, but I would like to thank everyone who sent me a review, because they really spurred me on! (And by that I mean I felt guilty, haha.) Anyway, this chapter is the longest yet, and hopefully I won't be such a slacker in the future. Usual disclaimers apply. Apologies for the second post. The ending was awkward and I wanted to clean it up a bit. I'm trying my hardest to make this all reasonable. Enjoy, and don't forget to leave a donation in the box if you have any comments or complaints!**

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There was no way to tell how long he'd slept or even what time it was, but the way his face was stuck to his pillow was quite unpleasant, and there was an odd smell in the air. Kind of like chlorine. Exactly like chlorine.

Half of him, the responsible half, was issuing orders to his brain in an attempt to drag his ass awake, and it was having a hissy fit about the alarm clock not going off _like he'd told it to._ The other half, however, was content to lie there in his own un-showered, disgusting skin and fantasize about the pancakes he could have for breakfast.

'Breakfast' seemed to the be key word; the moment he thought it he sat straight up in bed, hair a crumpled mess around him, with his mouth wide open. Breakfast. He was supposed to be meeting Demyx for breakfast.

"Shit." Even his responsible side was startled by the amount of action that followed. His wiry frame nearly flew out of the bed and bolted to the bathroom, where he took in his appearance with extreme displeasure before rummaging through his towels and toothpaste for his shiny, fake platinum watch. "Shit!" Breakfast stopped being served at eleven thirty. It was ten forty-five. Hopefully Demyx wouldn't think he ditched him, and after making his first (and most likely only) friend on board Xigbar was not in any hurry to screw it over. Of course, he'd acted like a complete _girl _last night, swimming with him and everything, so maybe it was good not to seem overly eager to arrive in the dining hall…

But there really was no excuse for the tangled wad of his dark hair and the heavy scent of unclean chlorine that seemed to hurl itself at his ankle and never let go. It wasn't the nice, summery kind of pool smell, either. It was a turn-your-hair-green, haven't-showered-in-days smell. Neither of these things would go away without a shower, a shower he had no time to take. And he had yet to find his eye patch; he'd fallen asleep without taking it off, overly tired as he was, and it was now nowhere to be found. Like hell he was going to walk out on deck with the scarred wreck of his right eye out for everyone to see. Like hell.

"Like hell," he decided firmly.

He was not new to the experience of being pressed for time and strung out. It was impossible to count the times panicked employees had called him at three in the morning about a desperate situation, but this was not as serious as work. Somehow, though, that made it all the more serious, in the end.

The brush stuck abruptly in his hair and a deep growl issued from his throat at the same moment he bizarrely considered leaving it in there and claiming he'd gone retro. Right-o. Not going to happen.

Screw the shower. The brush made minimal progress as he threw himself down to look for his eye patch. It was ten fifty. There were a million curses swimming in his head, most of which would make even the saltiest sailor blush, but he couldn't be bothered to speak them out loud. By ten fifty-three he'd just snapped his patch over his somewhat agreeable hair, thrown on a dark blue shirt, and slipped into his ugly flip-flops. It made him glad he wasn't a woman; it would have taken longer. Women have to do things like apply makeup and…brush their hair…which he'd done…

Well, whatever, none of it mattered now as he flew down the corridor, trying to look as though he wasn't in a hurry, some long hairs caught under his shirt itching him the whole way until he yanked them out and forcibly opened the door to the dining hall, which was considerably brighter and noisier than it had been the previous night. The patrons, many of whom had left their children to separate dinner banquets, were forced to bring them to breakfast, and it was difficult to tell how many were eating their pancakes and how many were wearing them. That was kids, for you.

With his sharp eye Xigbar scanned the room, squinting in the sunny haze from the skylight and trying to discern Demyx's hair from everyone else's bedhead. There was a fine line between the two.

At last he found him, sitting at a white-clothed table with his head in one hand, the other drumming a meaningless tune on the tabletop, and as Xigbar approached from behind he admired Demyx's thin arms and his dexterous fingers. He wanted to reach out and greet the boy, as he would do to a good friend, but he abstained at the very last minute; they'd just met. That was improper. It was best to slide into the opposite chair and hope Demyx hadn't been waiting too long, which is exactly what he did. Blue eyes fixed upon him immediately, heavy with sleep. "G'morning."

"Good morning to you too, sunshine," Xigbar replied with a crafty smile. "How's the weather in dreamland?"

Almost automatically Demyx opened his eyes wide, grinned easily, and signaled for a waiter over his shoulder. "You think I'd have remembered to put on pants if I was that far in dreamland? Nah, I've been awake for a while. Since six, actually."

Ah, six. Around that time Xigbar would be three quarters of the way to the office, sorting out his mental to-do list and cutting people off in his snappy Nissan. What on earth someone as laid back as Demyx was doing up at that hour, though, Xigbar couldn't begin to fathom. He searched Demyx's face for any sign of remaining tiredness and was unable to find any.

"Er…" the younger man said awkwardly, and Xigbar knew he'd been caught. "Is there something on my face?"

"Nope," the other replied just as the waiter, a black-haired man in his thirties, arrived and handed them the thin breakfast menus, which Demyx had barely handled before telling the man what he wanted. Obviously he dined here often. Every morning, it would seem. Xigbar would have to ask him about it.

After he'd sent the waiter away with his order, he did ask.

Stretching his legs as far as they'd go without touching the other man, Xigbar threw up a mask of nonchalance. "You eat here a lot?"

Demyx sighed, stretching his arms high in the air confidently. Xigbar couldn't believe that his eyes automatically travelled down the musician's white t-shirt for the possibility of a sliver of exposed skin, but the other didn't seem to notice. "Yeah. Not at this ship, specifically, but within the cruise line, yeah. I've been with them for, uh, almost a year?"

Their coffee arrived. Xigbar bolted it down like a dog would its food, and, like that dog, looked up a moment later, wondering who had eaten it all. Or, in his case, drank. The dirty blond sneered at his mug. "I hate coffee. Don't you feel how it sticks to you? To your teeth? It's like snorting down toxic sludge. No thank you." He pushed it away, and once it was within Xigbar's perimeter the older man seized it as well. Once the cravings had abated, however, he returned to his cool and collected self, watching the other diners with a narrowed, yellow eye. It was startling to look at, almost frightening, especially paired with his smile. If Xigbar was indeed a businessman like he said, then Demyx had no doubt he frequently scared the pants off anyone and everyone in his path. Nothing so much as a single staple would fall out of place when Xigbar was around. For some reason, though, he didn't feel that fear. He felt respect (and, twined with it, longing to know the story behind all those scars) and affection, because Xigbar was wound up so tight it was just about the cutest thing he'd ever seen.

When Demyx had first started, he'd been fairly strung out, himself. He was fresh from the pressure of others to do something productive with his music, but his productive and their productive differed greatly. He'd auditioned for the dinner band on a whim, utterly unsure of himself. It was his greatest flaw: he completely fell apart in situations that required him to be an adult. That's why it had been such a relief to sail away from his home, out on the middle of the beautiful aqua sea, where he had no choice but to grow up.

It was hard, but he looked back on it and knew it was worth it.

It was surprising to him that he and Xigbar were getting along so well, because the latter was leaden with responsibility and experience, whereas Demyx was the complete opposite. He wondered if it wasn't because there was something slightly mature in him, and something slightly immature in Xigbar, that made them click. Xigbar needed to learn to loosen up. Demyx needed to learn to stand on his own.

Not that these were proper thoughts, this early in the morning. Despite being past eleven, it was still too early for him. His obligations were at night, during dinner, and occasionally for the final fling the ship threw at the end of each of its cruises, and sometimes the band would have to get together during the day to practise new music or reattune themselves with the old. He wasn't lying about being up at six, but that was for totally unrelated reasons.

Xigbar had not replied to his comment about the coffee, so he struggled for something worthwhile to say. Finally he settled for, "Would you like to go swimming after this?" The glare Xigbar gave him sent chills down his spine.

"Swimming, again?"

"Well, sure. And tomorrow, when we dock in Kite Island, we can swim with dolphins."

"Why would anyone want to do that?"

Demyx's jaw went slack. "You've gotta be kidding me. It is so much fun." At Xigbar's skeptical glance, he went on. "Do you know how dolphins feel? Have you ever touched one?" He hadn't. He had touched a sting ray, once, in an aquarium, and he had to confess that it wasn't all that bad, but he wouldn't admit it to Demyx. "They're amazing. And they're intelligent. And the water is so clear near the shore."

"Don't you get to do it enough?" Xigbar asked gruffly. "Aren't you tired of it yet?"

He might have struck a nerve, the way Demyx lowered his eyes and chewed his lower lip.

"No one will ever go with me, and I feel stupid doing it alone."

"It's more stupid that you'd cut yourself off just cuz no one will go with you."

It was so contrary to his previous statement that even Xigbar was surprised at it.

"I only did it once. I'd like to do it again. I'm going to quit this fall, you know. Got to get a real job."

"What, you got a whole list of things to do before you leave?" It was said only somewhat bitingly, Xigbar's frown giving away that he understood the melancholy radiating off the younger man. He rubbed his chin. "All that talk about breaking away and doing your own thing and loving your job, that was all just nonsense, was it?" The tone was exactly the same he used on his employees when they did something particularly thick skulled. You have to be a shark if you want to succeed in the corporate world. There is no time for dolphins.

The tense, ensuing silence was interrupted by the waiter arriving with their breakfast, handing Demyx a plate with two scrambled eggs and bacon while Xigbar received his beloved pancakes, at long last. The strain between them slowly dissipated as they carved into their breakfasts rather than each other, and finally Demyx replied. "It's not that anyone's telling me to do it, I just feel like it's time for a change. When we play, I can tell, no matter how stuck up and crazy it sounds, I can tell that I'm better than the other guys, and I'm not that important to them. You don't hire a lion tamer to babysit kittens, you know?"

"Well, if you're sure."

"That's the thing, though," Demyx added with a melodious laugh. "I'm not."

They looked at each other, mutually forgetting their food for a moment, and then Xigbar glared at his plate once more. "Whatever, alright," he told the other grudgingly. "Let's go swimming."

Demyx grinned. "Good. I haven't showered since yesterday, so I don't feel guilty messing up my hair again." Xigbar almost choked on his pancakes.

"You haven't showered either? Doesn't that…disgust you?"

"It was only last night," he scoffed. "It's not like I got totally filthy between then and now—"

"No, I mean, the chlorine doesn't make you sick?"

"No way. I love the smell. Reminds me of my childhood. Ha." Xigbar could not believe Demyx was so flippant about it when he'd spent a very trying morning fussing over the fact that he was unshowered.

He was still angry about it twenty minutes later when they were on the deck, leaning over the railing and watching the sea fly beneath them. The sky was obscured by gigantic, puffy clouds that looked nearly edible, and the sun fell in a perfect, dimmed way over the pool. The undulations of the waves were making Xigbar eager, for some reason, to jump in. Looking at the water below, however, almost made him want to dive overboard, but he was sure whatever enjoyment he would find in that would be quickly cut off as he was ground into pieces by the ship's engines.

Lovely.

Demyx laughed for absolutely no reason and pulled him through the gathering crowds until they'd found empty chairs by the blue pool. Happy people, ranging from old couples to honeymooners to small children, loitered about, playing cards, having races, and reading novels. Rather, sleeping under novels. For once Xigbar felt at ease about them being there, until it came time to strip down for the swim.

"What's wrong?" Demyx asked, fixing him with his worried eyes, the pupils so small that the bluish green was astounding. "I've already seen the scars…"

He pointed to the crowd. "But they haven't." He sounded like a petulant, immature _child_. No, scratch that, he sounded like a teenage girl, the kind that buggers everyone else with her irrational low self esteem.

"Mm." His shirt was already off, smooth skin gleaming in the light. "I say screw them. If anything it'll empty the pool out for us."

"You don't understand." This was the most frustrating thing in the world. Him, never having made these excuses in the past, trying to explain his phobia, his stigma, to someone who had never dealt with it before. Demyx might be having a career crisis, but he'd obviously never had to worry about his looks, being attractive no matter what he did (seemingly), even if he wasn't entirely aware of it.

Xigbar was shocked out of his mind when Demyx started to reach for him or, more specifically, for his shirt, and it would have been a funny, awkward moment if he wasn't trying to calm a raging inner tornado. When he twitched, the younger's hands fell short and brushed his thigh. "Would you stop it?" Demyx admonished. "It's none of their business what you look like. How many ugly people have you seen on this vacation so far? How many old guys in thongs is it gonna take for you to realise that you are by no means the worst person here, and that I think your scars are pretty goddamn cool, and anyone who doesn't is a moronic wussy who doesn't deserve to be in our club?"

"We have a club?"

"Yes. It's the super amazing wonderful cool club," he replied, sinking to his knees before Xigbar and sliding his hands underneath the other's shirt with no warning at all. Surprisingly, his hands were warm, and Xigbar forgot that he was being violated as those hands skipped up his back and led his shirt away from him and over his head. "And no one can get in if they're going to hate on scars." To emphasize, he dragged a finger down one of the white streaks between Xigbar's collarbone and shoulder while his eyes followed the one that had brutally ended the vision in his right eye.

How had no one seen this display? The dark-haired man's head swiveled around, looking for someone who would point at the two men and laugh and announce to everyone that they were being touchy feely and soul searchy together, but no one did.

"Come on." Demyx dragged him to the pool's edge, the very same pool they'd shared the night before, only now they were sharing it with a host of other people. Xigbar's shoulders slumped self-consciously. The sun peeked out from between the clouds and cast them both in sharp relief against the tan deck. He felt spindly and discomfited and obvious.

"Okay, Sergeant Nervous, get over here." Demyx yanked him down so they could dip their legs into the water and test it. Demyx wasn't surprised that Xigbar's legs were thinner than his.

"You're a freak," he grumbled, irritable.

"I thought you were the freak." He chuckled. "Think about how weird I am and maybe it'll make you feel better. Hey, the _point _is that you've got to accept the fact that you look like you got mauled by a tiger, but you're still appealing."

"Gee, thanks," Xigbar replied sourly. "Am I supposed to just take your word for it?"

"Come on, you look tough! You look fierce! You want me to sugarcoat it? I thought you were tougher than that." He grinned darkly. "You've got to project it! You need to suck it freaking up and jump in this pool with me, or so help me I will shave off your eyebrows while you're sleeping."

"You wouldn't."

"Try me, cupcake."

With that, Xigbar yanked the younger man's arm and flung him into the pool, where he bobbed up a few seconds later, sputtering and laughing with vengeance. The unexpected splash had startled a few of the kids playing with sinking rings nearby, and when they saw Xigbar sitting on the pool, he cringed and waited for them to say something, to turn away, or for their parents to call a subtle warning for them to keep their distance. Nothing of the sort happened. In fact, one of the boys raised his hand and shouted "Good one!"

For a second he fought back the smile, but finally it broke through. _I look like I got mauled by a tiger, _he thought wryly. _But I'm still attractive. And fierce. So says this weirdo. _He wanted to laugh with the ridiculousness of the situation and his uncharacteristic timidity (of all the weaknesses, huh?). It was safe to say he was cured…for the moment, at least.

"What did I tell you?" Demyx asked breathlessly.

Xigbar replied, "I don't know whether to hurt you or pay you."

"Pay will be fine," the boy laughed, and backflipped into the water.

* * *

**Doesn't that just warm the heart, hmm? Even people like Xigbar can be self-conscious woobies. Doesn't give much hope for the rest of us.**

**I've been meaning to add that this story shares its title with a poem I wrote in third grade (good times, good times) which was published in the district poetry magazine, and of course it swelled my little heart with pride despite the fact that I'd never actually seen the sea at that point...but, uh, you didn't hear that from me. Thus concludes our broadcast. **


	4. You've got to be kidding me

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed or favourited this story! I appreciate all the feedback, and it keeps me going. :D**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

The setting sun had dyed the sky violently sherbet colours, and it was difficult for Xigbar to tell you exactly when the air began to smell different. It felt as though, for the first time since _The Highwind _left port, they'd really _left. _He liked it, even if it made him a little nervous. His company could be a smoldering pile of ash for all he knew, and this thought made him jerk in an unconscious move towards his computer, which had been safely tucked in his room for at least twenty four hours, untouched.

Demyx was perched on a beach chair to the left of him, plucking at his guitar and swearing heavily. The band was going to introduce a new song to their lineup, but it was somewhat influenced by country, which Demyx seemed to be resisting with all his might. "_I _would throw up," he said matter-of-factly, "if they played that drivel while _I _was eating."

It was nice, though, because the waves were mesmerizing and there was chlorine in his hair again and he didn't give a damn. Nice. Even with Demyx's increasingly lewd language puncturing the atmosphere. Xigbar could barely even hear it as he eyed the horizon, watching the curved earth collide with the sky who-knows-where, trying to gather the bigger picture. The ocean was doing strange things to him.

The next day, however, the ship would dock at a small island situated between points A and B, and he was looking forward to stepping on dry, solid land again. The kind of land that didn't move. Demyx asked him about tectonic plates when he expressed this desire, and the earth's rotation, and Xigbar was sure there was a difference. He turned to look beside him.

The wind was blowing the longer, blonder strands of Demyx's hair across his face, and it glowed in the sun the way Xigbar's dark hair never would, and his skin seemed to sparkle with sandy grains that were permanently embedded there. The younger man felt Xigbar's eyes and glanced up, the sun catching the bottom rim of his blue-green eyes. "Huh?"

Xigbar narrowed his eye and looked at his watch, which didn't exist at that point in time. "I would go clean up if I were you."

"Yeah, I guess it's time. You're going to be there, right? We can meet up afterwards, maybe catch a drink or two."

"Sure, kid."

"Kay." He smiled cheerfully and left.

Brooding in his absence, Xigbar stared back at the ocean, chin in his palm. He wondered if Demyx had some sort of obligation to him; maybe he was encouraged to be overly nice to people who weren't having a good time, to raise ratings. That didn't seem like him. What was it, then, that made him hang around so much? He never so much as asked Xigbar if he had other plans. What if he didn't _want _to hang out with him? Nevertheless, the pathetic truth was that he did, he had nothing better to do, and for the same reason he trudged along to dinner, retying his ponytail on the way.

When he was Demyx's age, he was thinking as he sat down at his table and ordered, he was in the company of other boys, engrossed in his own business and thinking he was hot shit, he never would have noticed someone of his current age moping about, and if he had, he probably would have assumed him to be some kind of hobo. Why on earth was he being so attentive? Not that Xigbar minded, it was just that the logic completely escaped him.

Demyx must really have been _that _bored.

The stage was already full with instruments, and soon the band filed on. It was very early in the evening, much earlier than Xigbar would have preferred to eat, but he had unconsciously followed Demyx, no matter how indirect a following it was.

He listened to the lively tunes as he ate his shrimp ravioli, which made him feel a bit like a sailor, though he was sure sailors weren't so liberal with alfredo sauce and rosemary.

When he'd finished this, he ordered coffee and dessert (tiramisu) so he would have something to occupy himself with until Demyx took his first break, which came at approximately eight. Maybe he should have brought the paper to read, though he'd never really liked reading it; besides, they were probably at least a week out of date, as delivering papers to a moving ship was impossible without large sums of money and perhaps a helicopter. He was putting too much thought into it.

At eight, a well-dressed blond man came on stage to read announcements, covering everything from tomorrow's menu to Kite Island, the port they were docking at the next day, and procedures for doing so. The blond made it clear that there should be no shenanigans, because people are sometimes left behind.

"That's scary shit," Demyx whispered as he took a seat at Xigbar's table for two. Without asking he lifted Xigbar's half-eaten dessert away from him and helped himself, unconcernedly using the fork Xigbar had already eaten off of. "The island isn't that big, so I hope there's no way we can get lost."

"Haven't you been there before?" he asked doubtfully. He was going to be completely useless, he could already tell. As a child, he'd hated vacationing with his family. Something about being away from home tired him out. He didn't feel tired now, though.

"Well, sure, but I went to the beach and that was it. There's a market strip close to the port, but it's there just to get tourists to buy useless junk, preserved puffer fish and all that, so I didn't bother. I think the food's over there too, so if we got hungry we'd have to go."

"So we're in this together, then?"

"If we weren't, you'd stay in your room and pout."

"_Pout_?"

"I know for a fact there's no porn to order on the T.V., so I can't imagine what else you'd do."

They stared at each other, Demyx's fearsomeness diluted by the cake he'd stuffed in his mouth and hadn't had the time to chew yet.

"Well, whatever. There's a beach, and you said swimming with dolphins."

"Yeah, but that costs a lot. We could find our own wildlife. We don't need those dolphins." Xigbar had a feeling 'wildlife' meant 'jellyfish', and the 'fun' that would ensue would be more like 'severe stings'. "And they wait until it gets dark to leave, so everyone can stay and watch the sunset." Someone called his name suddenly, one of the band members, and he shouted back to them. "My break's up. You don't have to wait here for me or anything. Go swim or something."

"I don't think I can swim any more," Xigbar replied, lazily stretching his thin arms back. It was true—he couldn't, and his limbs were aching everywhere. "I'm going to my room."

"Will you let me in?"

For a moment, Xigbar gaped at him. The thought had never occurred to him; he figured this would be the end of the night for them, and they'd start again tomorrow. Apparently not. He wasn't even sure what he could entertain Demyx with if he did show up at his room. Stupidly, though, he said "Yeah, sure. It's number 213."

"Cool. I'm going to come get you, and then we're going to go swimming!"

Xigbar groaned. "Can't you do that by yourself? You're a big boy."

Demyx simply smiled and walked back, humming under his breath.

* * *

Xigbar made his way to his room. He could hear children pounding down neighbouring hallways, muffled voices through the walls, and the distant creaking and groaning of the ship's metal insides, and reminded himself for the hundredth time that he was moving and on water. It was easy to forget.

When he opened his door, he was struck by how quiet it was inside, and still. He almost said lonely, but that seemed silly. His apartment back home felt the same way sometimes, but he had never noticed it before now, never had a name to put to it. He let his hair down and combed it in the manliest way possible, then sat on his bed and started at his laptop. Not stared in the sense that he was deeply engrossed in anything on it; the thing wasn't even turned on. It was across the room, on top of the dresser. He got up and sat on the chair near the desk. Then he sat on the floor and stared at the ceiling, arms behind his head and the calf of his right leg resting on his left knee. He was bored out of his skull.

He worried a bit over what he and Demyx would do once the latter arrived; if he was bored among his own things, Demyx would be doubly so. Maybe he would jump on the bed. That made Xigbar laugh. Maybe they really would go swimming, and the water would ripple on the floor of the pool the way it does only at night, and maybe there would be no one else there so they could have a race. He wasn't sure what he liked better, himself winning the race or Demyx. Demyx was the better swimmer, so in reality he'd probably win, and he'd gloat and smile. Xigbar could picture it, Demyx framed in the fuzzy yellow of the pool lights. Or, if he won (by some miracle), Demyx would be coolly pissed off, and maybe he'd jump on top of him and under the water they'd struggle playfully, legs meeting one another, Demyx's hands on his chest, skin sliding and slick with water—

He sat straight up.

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me."

* * *

As it turned out, the two did go swimming, but not until after they'd had a drink at the bar and attempted to play blackjack at one of the card tables, which both of them were appallingly ghastly at. Eventually they settled for playing war, and when that got tiring (half an hour passed with no clear winner), they played go fish, and Xigbar won. The bar was quiet, the bubbling aquarium backlighting everything pleasantly in blue, and Demyx's face was soft and tired as he smiled and urged Xigbar up so they could hit the pool at last. Apparently Demyx's way of transitioning between activities was to swim, the way someone else might have a snack or read a book. He just had to do it, or he couldn't go about his day or sleep at night.

As they walked, Xigbar mentioned times during his life when he'd spent the day in the water and felt as though he was still rocking on it as he lay in bed that night. The same thing had happened with roller coasters. Demyx disliked roller coasters, and had only been on one (during which his nose had collided with the thick plastic safety belt, and after which he swore off roller coasters forever), but he did know the watery feeling and said it still happened sometimes. He liked it.

"I like to be moving when I'm resting," he told Xigbar as they undressed in the hot, breezy night air. "If I could," he laughed, "I'd replace my bed with a hammock."

"I would toss my cookies," Xigbar replied confidently. There was an elderly couple in the shallow end of the pool, but otherwise they had it to themselves, and Xigbar pressed his back to the pool wall, holding onto the ledge with his fingers and letting the water lift his legs as he watched Demyx back flip into a handstand. He let his gaze fall upwards, to the sky, where countless stars were winking.

Suddenly Demyx was right next to him, grinning and dripping, hair flattened and dark. "Are you gonna hang there like a girl or are you gonna swim?" The scarred man pushed off, simultaneously seizing Demyx's head and pushing it under, releasing it as he floated away. Sputtering and vengeful, Demyx got his revenge a few times over, and when they finally tumbled down the hallway to Xigbar's room, both men were tired and waterlogged. Xigbar wasn't even worried about them being bored anymore.

"I need a shower," he told the brunet, who nodded and collapsed on the bed without ceremony.

He showered nervously, the water colder than it might have been on any other night simply because he'd been in water for the past hour, but as the streams plastered his hair against his back and he reached his bony hips with the washcloth, he thought there might have been an even better reason for the water being cold. There was warmth in him, on him, everywhere, as though he was sunburned despite it being nearly eleven thirty at night. His cheeks were flamed, like he'd been smiling too much, and perhaps he had without even noticing. There was tight pressure building in his temples, and an equal but duller feeling developing between his legs that might have become something more pressing if he'd given any more thought to it, which he was desperately trying not to do.

There was no reason for it. He could _not _be attracted to Demyx; the very thought was surreal. Even though Demyx was friendly and fiendish in perfect balance, and even though his skin was soft and glowed a little from sun exposure (especially near his shoulders and collarbone as the muscles and bones beneath the skin flexed and moved), and even though he was showing too much interest than what was due for an old, scarred up company shark, there was no way Xigbar could find him attractive.

Or had he just thoroughly proved himself wrong?

He toweled dry and slipped into sweat pants and a black cotton tee he'd left in the bathroom that morning and entered the room again to find Demyx fast asleep on the left side of the bed, still wet and dressed.

"Dumbass," Xigbar chided softly and affectionately, debating whether or not to wake him up. It seemed a crime, however, especially with the younger man looking so comfortable. As quietly as possible he turned off all the lights save the one directly above the night table and slid onto the mattress, knees first. The movement awoke Demyx, but not entirely, for his eyes seemed to be having trouble staying open and he smiled dazedly.

"Sorry. Should I go to my own room?"

Resting on his knees and knuckles now, almost leaning over the boy, Xigbar shook his head, sending his loose hair over his shoulders a bit. "Nah."

Another sleepy grin. "Good. I don't feel like moving." His eyes found a streak of grey hair and followed it down to where it graced the mattress. He touched it, working it between his fingers. Wet from the shower. Smelled nice. Xigbar watched, his eye sharp as a hawk's.

"You're such a pretty princess with your hair like that," Demyx joked, and Xigbar growled halfheartedly. All of a sudden, Demyx reached up and traced the scar that ran down his left cheek with a gentle finger. "Except that, though. Still pretty." In another dimension somewhere a smart, coherent, and righteously angry Xigbar would have snapped something in return about 'pretty' being the last word any person should _ever _use to describe him, but he couldn't even breathe. He, who had fired people face to face without batting an eye (the one that was capable of batting, that is), found the words ripped right out of him, focusing sporadically on different points of Demyx's face: his small, pointed noise, his sharp chin, and the mild curves of his cheekbones.

Demyx seemed proud of himself, for some reason, and when he smiled again Xigbar realised with a start that they were within what could be kissing distance, and that thought opened a whole new Pandora's box of things he wasn't ready to deal with, and he pulled away.

"I promise I don't move around a lot in my sleep," Demyx said, as though nothing out of place had happened, and maybe it hadn't. Maybe Xigbar was looking too far into things. But even as he settled into the sheets, allowing Demyx to slip under, his heart was pounding faster than he ever remembered it doing. Compared to the corporate dangers he faced every day, this seemed like _nothing_, and yet it was doing _everything _to him.

"I do talk sometimes, though," the other continued thoughtfully. "Wake me up if I say something embarrassing."

Oh gods, it was like having a sleepover. Even in his youth he'd never shared his bed (and, in his less innocent days, he had _shared _the bed, so to speak, but never allowed anyone to sleep there overnight. He wasn't cooking anyone breakfast), so it was strange and unsettling, but in the darkness the sound of Demyx's legs sliding under the sheets was reassuring, and the younger man was merciful enough not make him talk.

He wasn't lonely when Demyx was there. When he knew all he had to do was turn over and there he'd be, it was…

Ugh. Listen to him go on like a schoolgirl.

But it was, really, like having happiness on tap.

Staring into the darkness, lying on his left side with his arm under the pillow, he was overly conscious of every noise Demyx made, from small shifts to his shallow breaths. He thought he'd be awake forever; it would have surprised him, then, to learn that he was asleep within minutes. When he started to snore softly, Demyx laughed to himself until he, too, fell under.


	5. Busting up on the Beach

**Once again, thank you for all your reviews! I apologise for the last chapter's shortness, but I figured I would have another chapter out soon enough to make up for it, and here it is! I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

"Here you go!" the short man said, handing the two of them a pair of light blue paper bracelets. "Don't lose those, now. They're your ticket to getting back on." Demyx nodded and they made their way down the boardwalk towards a gathering of short buildings. The weather on Kite Island could only be described as tropical, but it was early enough in the season that the air was fresh and salt-laden rather than humid. The man giving the bracelets away had been attaching them to people's wrists for them, until Demyx and Xigbar were next in line. Xigbar hoped it was because the man knew they were both grown and could do it themselves, but it might have had something to do with his appearance, too.

Not that he was fearsome that morning. In fact, he felt better than he had in a very long time. It was early, eleven o'clock, and he knew he must have been enjoying this vacation if eleven was becoming early to him. There were birds, creatures not often seen so far out at sea, and there was sand, which felt wonderfully hot even though it stuck in his sandals.

The sun shone as though the earth was simply a dark ball that someone had stumbled upon with a flashlight, and the young female tourists who'd gotten off the _Highwind _behind them were giggling and polishing their overlarge sunglasses and reapplying lip gloss. He couldn't be buggered to care about them.

There were shops up ahead, and he and Demyx stopped to look at a large sign designed for tourists to find their way along the beach. The island, in its entirety, was shaped somewhat like an apple, but the part they would be able to explore during the day was a much smaller fraction shaped like a semicircle. The beach was the sharp, straight side, jutting diagonally down, with points here and there along it designating snack bars and attractions (one of which might have been dolphins, Xigbar surmised), and the stores and the strip were the arc, clustered according to their purpose. The fancier stores were tucked away behind the commonplace shops, and the aquarium, brand new and highly publicised, had been tossed down directly in the centre of the other nonsense.

He was still fiddling with his bracelet (inferior plastic, that's what; they don't make things like they used to), and it was doing its best to remain unclasped. Unaware of this, Demyx was plotting a line they could follow down the beach.

Waking up to Demyx, rather than the alarm clock, was also responsible for promoting his good mood. His first thought upon seeing Demyx's tousled appearance was a nightmarish one; he thought he'd had a lay and forgotten to tell them they weren't welcome to stay the night. Slowly, surely, he realised it was not that at all, that it was only Demyx shaking him awake by the shoulder. "Get ready," he whispered, "and meet me outside C block. I'm going back to my room."

Xigbar didn't sit up, which was probably a mistake, and he was drifting into sleep again. "Hnurh? Why?"

"Cuz I can't use your toothbrush, sunshine. That's gross."

"Like that's the only thing you've got to brush," the older man muttered, rolling over onto his side. Through the walls, the waking commotion of the other travelers could be heard. The bed was very warm.

Oblivious to his bedhead, Demyx narrowed his eyes. "You say something?"

"Nope. Get lost, will you?"

At that moment he opened his eyes, but he wasn't sure what had jolted him completely awake. The dirty-blond was already pulling on his shoes without untying the laces, and Xigbar watched him bow his body and slip them each on while standing on one leg. The glow of the previous evening was captured in the electric lights, and it gathered in the light strands of Demyx's hair and in the pit of Xigbar's stomach. Oh. He remembered now.

It was like remembering something vitally important but unlikely, uncommon, like remembering it's your birthday. It felt exactly like that, and adrenaline shot through his wrists.

"See you!" Demyx waved and opened the door as Xigbar's bare feet hit the floor. He held the door open while the other left and leaned into the frame, sticking half his body into the hallway to watch Demyx's retreat. When the boy had gone, he turned back to the room that suddenly seemed emptier and began to dress.

Anyone would have felt the same in his position, wouldn't they? He stumbled through the logic. Anyone would have reacted the same way to someone like Demyx hanging all over them all the time. But what the hell was he talking about? Demyx wasn't hanging all over him at all—he only sought friendship, a break in the boredom of a job that paled next to what he wanted to do. Xigbar himself hadn't always wanted to be at the head of a company; it just happened that way. Demyx truly wanted to be a musician, but that was as good as being unemployed these days.

So what did that all mean? He wasn't _denying _that he had started to see Demyx differently. What freaked him out the most, he realised, was that Demyx would probably not return these feelings (might even find them weird and take a few uneasy steps back) and it could ruin what they had (and wasn't _that _always the damn problem with things like this). The worst thought, far worse than the previous two, was that he'd spend the rest of week developing feelings for Demyx, and then he would have to get off and go home and deal with the fact that he'd wussed out and passed up something real. More real than other 'romances' he'd been involved in, at the very least.

What if Demyx had never even so much as had his first kiss? What if he only liked girls?

"This _sucks_!" He threw shirt after shirt behind him, looking for something proper to wear.

It really sucked because Demyx wasn't the root of the problem. Really, being so open and breezy, Demyx probably wouldn't have a fit about it. It all came down to Xigbar's hesitance to take it anywhere.

Did he want to take it somewhere? He wasn't planning on having a brief fling with anyone when he'd boarded the ship. And, if he fucked things up, the week would end eventually, and he could escape it all, maybe pretend it had never happened.

As soon as the thought came, however, guilt slunk into his chest. That would be impossible, not to mention disrespectful. Not to mention _impossible. _

Although the chances of him fucking up were pretty good. That was always a sure bet. The thing was, when he messed up at work, he could just scare the knickers off everyone and make a full recovery. Demyx wasn't scared of him.

"Okay then." He exhaled and looked at himself in the mirror, fully dressed at last. He'd meticulously brushed his hair and his teeth. He'd put his eye patch on three different times before he was satisfied with it. He'd walked around for five minutes in one outfit and spontaneously swapped it for another. He'd—

The point was, he was being a _girl _about the situation. He told his reflection in the mirror as much. It stared back at him with a confused expression.

Demyx, on the other hand, had snuck back into his room, where his roommate was dozing. Said roommate was approximately thirty five years old and a fellow member of the evening band. As the band stayed on the ship permanently, they were forced to share rooms to preserve space. Demyx didn't care much where his roommate went, and thought the opposite was the same, but the lanky black-haired man cracked his eyes open as Demyx crept in and rummaged through his drawers. He said, "Where've you been?"

"Out." As friendly as he sometimes was, Demyx was not the kind of person to make excuses for himself. Xigbar was meeting him outside in a few minutes; he didn't have time to explain himself to someone whose nose was too far in others' business.

"Dude, I thought you'd fallen overboard or something." Demyx snorted, eyes narrowed. _I doubt you were that worried. _

"I was hanging out with someone else," he stated simply, hoping to end it there. As he stuffed his toothbrush into his mouth, however, the questioning went on.

"Oh, like a girl?"

Without thinking he answered, "No." (With the toothbrush, it sounded more like "Moawr".)

"You were with another _dude_? Sick. That's like a sleepover." His tone demonstrated quite clearly what he thought about sleepovers, especially those that took place between two grown men.

"What the fuck would you know about it?" The dirty-blond threw a bag onto his unmade bed and tossed as many things as he could into it, all the ingredients for a good beach day. The roommate might have been saying something again, but he wasn't listening. He grabbed the bag and walked out, slamming the door on the other man, mid-sentence.

He met up with Xigbar, and they made their way towards the docking area.

Xigbar could never have guessed what kind of morning Demyx was having, because he was his usual self—calm, optimistic. Over his shoulder, a bulging navy bag was slung. "What's in the bag?"

"Hmm? Oh, the usual stuff. Sunscreen, towels, a bag to put seashells in."

It was weird.

Well, the first weird thing was that Demyx was expecting the same things from the beach that might be observed in a child, but the way he went about it was anything but childish. Collecting seashells was simply something _everyone _did at the beach, no matter what age, in Demyx's eyes. Ladders are there for climbing. Trampolines are there for jumping. Beds were there for sleeping (or, depending on who you are, keeping all your junk in). Beaches, therefore, were there for seashell collecting. And swimming. And running. And tanning. And sometimes, unfortunately, burning.

The other weird thing was that Xigbar had been staring at nothing but the sea for the past three days and had seen the coast as they walked onto Kite Island, yet he was still anxious to see the beach. The air smelled of it, the sound of crashing waves was audible, and Xigbar felt the sort of excitement children feel before a major holiday, sometimes weeks in advance. He wanted to get to the beach.

They walked down the strand and took a right down the path leading to the public beach. There was a cement area with showers for washing off the sand, as well as large changing booths, and large clumps of tan beach weed that swayed in the ocean wind. Along the way they'd seen strange, pineapple-like trees, the bark of which looked like it might impale someone if they came too close. The sky was azure blue, the sea faintly aqua, and before Xigbar knew it Demyx broke away and began running onto the sand.

He sighed, then smiled, then took off after him.

* * *

The grit was everywhere. It made putting on sunscreen exceptionally hard, but Xigbar was fighting his best, long abandoned by Demyx. The latter was already neck-deep in the waves, choking on salt and loving every moment. Once he'd gotten the initial sea-hysteria out of his system, the younger man ran back to their towels, where Xigbar was stretched on his back in his trunks, pale, skinny torso exposed under the shade of their somewhat ugly lemon yellow umbrella. His abdomen muscles were lightly defined, as he was slimly built. Demyx made a point of shaking off all the water he possibly could on him.

"Hey!"

"Sorry!" he laughed. "Come on in!"

In the bright sun Xigbar had to shield his eye to look at Demyx. The boy was wet and glittering, sand encrusted on his legs from mid-calf down. He was holding a few seashells, which he dumped onto his towel to dry. Before long he stood back up again and offered his hand to Xigbar.

All around them happy people were running and laughing and swimming and eating, and the breathing of the waves wrapped them all in perpetual clockwork, and Xigbar didn't even think before grabbing Demyx's hand and letting him drag him to the tide, where foam collected with each sweep of the waves onto the shore, depositing bits of sea shells and gathering up others. The sand was burning hot, but it felt wonderful to stand in the waves. Demyx pulled him further in until they were battling the tide with all their strength, salty water going up their noses and getting in their eyes. Somehow, Xigbar only felt more and more thrilled as they went deeper until they could tread water.

"Are you sure there aren't any sharks out here?" Xigbar growled, looking down at the thick, grey-emerald water. His ponytail had come loose in the process, and his hair was soaking wet, floating like ghostly seaweed around him.

"Nope. You can never be sure of that." The younger man lifted up and floated on his back, letting the waves pick him up and push him down again.

"Isn't that kind of dangerous…?"

Dazed, staring up at the clear sky, Demyx only smiled. "I think it's worth it."

The adrenaline rush that followed this was a surprise, but it coursed through Xigbar's veins as forcefully as it could, coiling somewhere in his stomach and throat until he couldn't distinguish it from the burn of salt. And, like the salt, it made him feel alive, and he realised, with a start, that the feeling had a name—affection.

As his feet lifted gently off the sandy ocean floor with a passing wave, Xigbar surrendered to the light feeling and let the emotion seize control of his body. All he wanted in that moment was to have some kind of contact with Demyx. It could have been perfectly friendly, platonic. He didn't care. He didn't go to bars with 'the guys', he didn't have anything beyond one night stands—hell, he didn't even have an animal to pet at the end of the day. And for the first time he thought he would trade away everything (the fluorescent lights, the prestige, the money, the coffee) if he could have more than just a fleeting connection with someone.

Why hadn't it happened for him? Why did it always have to be those who were attracted to his dangerous appearance but never anything beyond? Since college…no, no, since _high school_, Demyx was the only person to hang around him for so long. Why was that?

A seagull shrieked. It startled him into action.

He didn't think; he simply let the waves carry him on a small jump until he was within reaching distance of the floating brunet. His hands fixed to the slender edges of Demyx's waist, and then they were falling down into the salty sea. Under his hands, Demyx's muscles worked as he sputtered a little, caught unaware, but soon his own hands latched onto Xigbar's shoulders to retaliate. They floated to the surface, playfully struggling. Demyx didn't even ask what had prompted the spontaneous scuffle, but he was eager to play along.

They kept close quarters, neither wanting to upset the water too much or slip under the waves and lose the advantage. Demyx kicked a leg between his and he caught it at the knee, pulling him closer, and the scarred man felt a hand pressed flush against his breastbone as the other tried to push him off, laughing. Xigbar couldn't find it in himself to laugh; he was _happy_, make no mistake, but there was something much more complicated behind the happiness that was showing through his gold eye in dangerous glints.

There was something distinctly juvenile about the competition, similar to the way teenagers play-fight as means of flirting, the careful moves of two people who like each other, want to touch each other, and are too nervous to admit it, so they mask it all under the pretense of a battle.

If Xigbar was straight with himself, that seemed to be exactly what was going on, at least on his end of it. He wasn't sure what Demyx felt.

Demyx, in fact, was looking up at him, glance scoping from Xigbar's eye patch to the sharp eye that was still intact, to the cruel scar on his left cheek, to his fierce, narrow shoulders. His hands found their way semi-accidentally around Xigbar's hips to his back, and his fingers skipped over the smooth grooves of scars, scars he would have to ask about later. The eye, too. He liked to think that Xigbar would trust him enough to tell him someday.

Said man's rough hand at his forearm jerked him from his reverie with a gasp.

"Play nice," Demyx warned sternly. "Don't make me regret bringing you out here." Xigbar felt breathless and dizzy.

The trip to Kite Island was one of the only ship-scheduled activities that Xigbar had thus far participated in, and he wasn't about to blow it. He could have spent the past three days playing silly games with people on deck or dancing after dinner. He hadn't. He'd spent them with Demyx, and he realised that the only reason he was here now was because he was with Demyx, and the only reason he would ever go _anywhere _for the remainder of his vacation was because Demyx would take him there.

It wasn't that foreign of a thought to Demyx, who admired the older man's streaked hair as it adhered to their skin by way of the salt and the way Xigbar's physical actions seemed so sure of themselves. Demyx could lead him around all he wanted to; it didn't change the fact that Xigbar was stronger. Still, he'd already come to terms with the knowledge that Xigbar couldn't have gotten rid of him even if he'd wanted to.

Where did that leave them, then?

Xigbar gulped and swallowed heavily when Demyx's arm looped around his neck in surrender, allowing the older man to support most of his weight. Maybe his roommate was right. Maybe this sort of thing was ridiculous—two men, sleeping in each other's beds, going swimming together, tussling in the water.

The warm jolt settled in Xigbar's stomach once again as he held the other man against the waves, touch lingering on his hip unconsciously. The blunt, watery pressure of limbs, another body, against his was comfortable. Alright, it was more than comfortable. It made him want more, want to press completely against the brunet and test whether he was feeling the same things. He'd seen Demyx happy, angry, sleeping, eating…now he wanted to see a needing Demyx, a wanting Demyx, a Demyx who was overpowered by desire.

He gulped again.

They weren't the kind of thoughts he should have been thinking, with Demyx so close, but the sea green eyes just looked up at him in complete casualness. The boy's thumb pushed against a pressure point in his neck, making his back go rigid, quite a feat in the weightlessness of the warm water. They'd stopped fighting. It might have been awkward, but Demyx didn't believe in awkward. _What are you thinking_? he asked Xigbar mentally.

"Are you alright?" is what he said.

"I'm fine," Xigbar answered, but it seemed that something had been caught in his throat, for it took him a moment to reply. "Why don't we go find some more seashells?"

"That's a good idea," Demyx giggled, pulling himself straight, using Xigbar's neck as a balance. His arm travelled down Xigbar's until it met with his hand, and then the older man was being pulled along again towards the shore. It was easier, with the waves at their back.

Among seaweed and cracked fragments, the two men laboured in the sun to find whole seashells, stumbling upon a shark tooth or two as they worked. When Demyx could carry no more, he settled for sitting in the tide, carving meaningless symbols in the sand and watching them wash away again and again while Xigbar stood behind him, hands in his pockets, and watched the distant people floating on the waves with the blue, blue sky overhead. Neither of them spoke.

Xigbar was slightly embarrassed. He wondered if Demyx had seen right through him, and known about the electricity bubbling in his system when they touched even in the slightest way. Had he noticed Xigbar focusing on his salt-swollen lips for a moment too long?

He was being a _moron_. He'd done dirtier things than _stare _at someone, for goodness's sake, but this wasn't like that. He really might have been in—

_Well_, he thought_, I'll jump that bridge when I get to it._

And Demyx leaned back and smiled at him, holding something white in his hands. "Look," he said, "It's a wentletrap."

"Amazing," Xigbar replied mildly, but he wasn't talking about the seashell.

* * *

**Hmm, Demyx really isn't brunet, and he isn't really blond, and he's not exactly dirty-blond. I hope you'll bear with me about that, because I'll probably call him all of those things at some point in time. XD The chapter name, by the way, is the name of the Destiny Islands fighting music. I thought it was appropriate. **


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